


Living Nightmares

by eppyweppy



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 10:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eppyweppy/pseuds/eppyweppy
Summary: Quentin attracts quite a lot of danger. Unfortunately he'll also attract pain - a great deal of it. One-shots or small stories consisting of Quentin-whump, from original stories to different interpretations of events. Some parts may be AU or non-cannon - check the notes at the beginning of each chapter! Upload schedule will be random!





	Living Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter consists of events at the end of episode 1 and the beginning of episode 2 (season 1) in which the Beast attacks the class. Slight AU. My take on things. Contains language and mentions of violence and gore. I always considered the 'Beast' to enjoy the suffering of his victims.

It was a strange sensation being suddenly unable to move. It wasn't like being held down or restrained, which he remembered clearly from certain moments at the psychiatric hospital. He couldn't blink. He couldn't speak or make so much as a sound from his seemingly frozen vocal cords. He could move his eyes, as if he was nothing more than eyeballs stuck in a plaster skeleton. He could hear, and the noise he heard was strange - wings fluttering? Many wings, and footsteps. Slow, measured, calm footsteps. By the time they came into view his eyes were already burning from not being able to blink, dry from the air. 

Tall, broad. A man - or at least, the body or shape of a man - surrounded from the top by fluttering moths. A thick cloud of moths that hid any recognizable features. The Beast was the only name he could truly apply. He watched as the Beast turned around, facing the paralyzed professor. A hand moved, and he took a brief moment to realize how the fang had far, far too many fingers, before he heard the slight choking sound. A twist of the fingers, and a resounding, sickening snap filled the air. He would have flinched, if he was able to, but could only remain stuck in his seat as his heart pumped painfully fast. The professor seemed to be released from the spell, only to drop quickly to the ground, dead. The Beast turned, the cloud of moths moving. The door opened and a burst of magic made It stagger backwards, sending papers flying, but ultimately doing no harm. What happened next, Quentin really couldn't tell. The Beast walked out of sight, and he heard the snap of bones, muffled cries of pain. His mind raced with the possibilities of what could be happening but he could not be sure. And then a violent sound, like an animal feeding on prey. He focused on his hand, with all the power he could possibly gather. His finger twitched, then seemed to blur. The coin fell and hit the desk with a clang.

Silence. 

Footsteps moved his way, clopping steadily across the floor. 

"Quentin Coldwater," the Beast said with a surprisingly clear voice. His heart was racing somehow even faster, as he wondered how this creature could possibly know his name. "There you are," the words, spoken so silky smooth, as if they didn't carry the threat of death only sent more fear flickering through him. 

A cold finger brushed his cheek and he wanted nothing more than to flinch away. 

"Let's nip this in the bud," the Beast said. 

The hand closed around his face. The previous contact had been icy cold, as if dipped in ice water before. But this time, there was a heat, although it didn't burn quite like actual flame would. Instead, it seemed to sear directly through his face and into his skill. Piercing agony hammered into his head, as if his entire skull was being crushed. He was sure his skin was melting, bones were breaking. He was unaware that the direct contact had removed the effects of paralysis, not that it mattered, because the moment the grip was on him all he felt was pain, his body writhing uselessly, a scream muffled by his inability to move his jaw. 

He thrashed, clawing uselessly until pain burst into both his shoulders, momentarily distracting him from the horrible pain in his skull. 

It ended suddenly, so abrupt that it left his mind reeling desperately in shock. The Beast released him, and he dropped to the floor, limp and trembling. Sounds of yelling, swearing, and explosive noises came from all around but his only interest now was in curling in on himself, drawing his legs up while wishing he could grab his pounding head in his hands. His arms wouldn't move and his shoulders ached. Pins and needles raced all the way into his hands. He could feel the wetness under his eyes. Was he crying? But there was wetness under his nose as well, and copper in his mouth. His senses were only partially functional, his mind so overwhelmed by whatever was currently trying to burst out of his skull that he couldn't really focus on anything. He could feel the blood pumping with every beat of his heart in his head, a constant thump that only confused him. While he was no longer being assaulted by the fresh assaulting agony, whatever leftover effect he had was crippling, rendering him incapable of moving his head in the slightest.

He flinched away, terrified as a hand fell upon his back, expecting a fresh burst of pain. But the hand was gentle, not cold or hot. 

Gradually, the shock brought on by the sheer pain faded enough for him to realize people were speaking. To him? 

He heard something about _fucking head trauma_ , and someone else, repeating _what was that?_

"Quentin! Quentin, can you hear me?" It was a female voice but when he tried to focus to remember who it was his head spun wildly and everything fell out of focus again, except the persistent pain. He struggled to stay conscious, but he wasn't sure why. Surely unconsciousness would be less painful. Unfortunately touched his shoulder, tentative and testing, but the fresh pain was enough to lose the fight to stay awake.

Pain followed him into a dreamless sleep.

 

He slowly woke. His shoulders felt strained and sore, but as he experimentally tried to raise his arm, he managed to do it. Not very far, and the motion brought a burn to his shoulder, but it meant he at least could move. The pain in his head was less crippling, but still very present. It was as though a band was wrapped tightly around his head, squeezing it until the skull was ready to break apart. He felt hot, as if his brain was melting, but he could practically feel the pain trickling away, very slowly. He opened his eyes, groaning as pressure slammed into his temples, pain piercing into the backs of his eyes. It wasn't so much the brightness in the room that did it, but just the action itself. His vision was blurry but definitely more functional that it had been. 

"You're very lucky. A little longer and you would have irreparable damage," someone near him said, making him flinch as he hadn't realized there was anyone else nearby. He turned his head slightly, wincing as he did, focusing on a slightly blurry face.

"What damage?" He asked. His voice sounded hoarse and weak, and he was aware of a stiff pain in his jaw. 

"The Beast used its grip to pass magical energy directly into you. It can be deadly after extended periods of time. Fortunately you will heal, but you may have symptoms for a few weeks. Headaches, nausea, light and sound sensitivity, hallucinations. You could have seizures," he listened, wondering just how long it would have taken to cause 'permanent damage'. "Your shoulders were dislocated, but they have been set. There is some residual swelling that will go down, and you'll feel pain until then," she continued. 

He nodded. After, she told him that he would need to answer questions, and also gave a quick run-down on what had happened.

 

The next day he was allowed to leave, so long as he wasn't alone and someone could keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't hurt himself. The sunlight seemed far too bright as he wandered uneasily into the open, eyes squinting automatically. His headache raged on, less than before but still aggravating. On top of everything, he was not allowed to attend classes for at least another week if he proved he was healing enough. Alice had agreed to walk with him to the Physicals Cottage, having been invited there by Eliot earlier that day. He didn't really want to hang out with anyone though, he just wanted to sleep. Alice was quiet, as she often was, while simultaneously uneasy in his presence. It had been all their faults that the Beast had entered the school to begin with, through the mirror they had inadvertently summoned it through. The only reason they weren't all expelled was because it had been an accident combined with his injuries and the rest of them fighting it off - or trying to. 

He kept closing his eyes as he walked, which slightly eased the strain and pressure in his head, as well as the stabbing pains in his eyes. He stumbled from time to time, over something he didn't see regardless of whether he was looking or not. He only wanted to lie down and maybe not get back up until his head no longer felt so bad. 

Sunlight reflected off the smooth stone, practically blinding in its intensity. He winced before his foot knocked against something solid and he nearly tripped, stopped only when Alice managed to steady him. 

He tried to smile at her, making his face hurt. Surprisingly there had only been a few small red marks on his face to mark where the fingers had been. It had felt like his very skin had been melted off, and he had expected it to look much worse. But it had been magical damage rather than physical, so while he still felt the pain, there wasn't physical injury.

Thankfully, the lights were dimmed in the cottage to not be severely blinding. Unfortunately it was the other senses that suddenly came rushing forward all at once. Glasses clinking, the conversations between many people, shouts, cheers, yells. The breaking of a glass that fell to the floor made him jump, sounding so much louder than it should be. The smell of alcohol was everywhere, burning its way into his nose, making his eyes water. A loud wave of cheering set off dizziness, his vision blurring. He went to the stairs, wanting to get up so he could enter a quiet room and sleep, hardly aware that Alice was practically shoving him up each step as weakness prickled at his legs. 

Instead of voices and sounds of people his ears made a pop, replaced by loud ringing. His vision blurred until he could practically see nothing at all, glimpses of shadows and blurring motions. He wasn't aware as his legs gave out completely, or even of the blood streaming from his nose. 

A minute later he was only aware that he was lying on his side, blood in his mouth again, the ringing fading into a distant annoyance as he began to be able to focus again. His entire body ached, muscles sore and stiff. His head was pounding heavily, his stomach churning. He couldn't remember how he got down here or why there was blood in his mouth. In fact, he couldn't recall anything but a mess of confusion followed by darkness after climbing the stairs. 

His sight was anything but reliable, and everything was spinning, but he caught sight of Alice's worried face as she looked down at him, eyes wide, saying something. Saying what? Her face grounded him slightly. Then he saw Eliot and Margo, also there, and he didn't remember them showing up. He tried to sit up, confused and slightly scared, but was immediately flattened by nausea. 

"Calm down, you had a seizure," Alice was saying, her voice clear one moment and then faded the next. A seizure? The doctor had said it was possible to have one, but it had almost been an offhand remark, and for some reason he simply hadn't expected he _would_ have one. The sensory overload from downstairs must have helped to cause it, considering it had brought on the confusion. He raised a hand, shaking and weak, fingertips tingling, and wiped at the blood under his nose. Had he hit his face on the way down? He didn't feel pain like he would if he had hit his nose. There was pain in his mouth, especially around his tongue, which explained why he could taste blood.

"I'm.. gonna be sick," he managed to say, managing to lift himself slightly off the ground, although he could still feel himself shaking.

"Fortunately we are well equipped for that," Eliot said, and a basin appeared close to his face. Of course, a place filled with drinking and probably massive hangovers would have a great number to spare.

Vomiting was an all too unpleasant experience with the combined pain across his head and face, especially on an empty stomach. When it ended, the nausea was gone, and he was slightly more able to focus. The ringing was back, but it wasn't quite so dominating as it had been, only competing with sound rather than overwhelming it. He felt a shiver run down his spine, as well as a heightened desperation to lie down and sleep. 

He sipped half-heartedly at the water he was offered, hands shaking almost too much to hold it. 

When he was able to stand he managed to make it into bed without having another seizure or a nose-bleed. The warmth and softness was soothing to his aching muscles.

He slept peacefully.

A headache itself was bad enough. Having it constantly for several days, along with the many side effects of the magical attack, was simply exhausting. He wasn't sure he could tolerate this for another moment, let alone days or weeks. He tried to sleep but since his initial rest, he had been unable to do so. He kept seeing moths, ripped out eyeballs, pools of blood. Phantom pains jolting down his arms. He would fall asleep for a short time only to dream he was being attacked, beaten over the head while his shoulders were ripped out of their sockets. He would wake, a scream of pain burning in his throat, pressing his hands against his head in pain. Occasionally a loud noise would startle him and he'd feel his heart race. If he tried to attempt any magic, even small amounts, his head would practically burst open with pain and blood would run down his face from his eyes and nose like some freaky movie. 

He lay his head back against a tree. The pressure was still there, tight and throbbing in the back of his head. His eyes still ached. It was cloudy today, the sunlight mostly blocked out by the coverage, making it not seriously painful to keep his eyes open. Still, it was slightly more relaxing to keep them closed as he rested there, exhausted, cranky, and miserable. 

"Hey."

And of course, of everyone that could have possibly decided to talk to him, it was Penny. The resident asshole.

"You should ward your mind if you're going to insult somebody who can hear your thoughts," Penny said in his rough voice, and when Quentin made the effort to open his eyes, the man was glowering at him. He sighed. He was far too tired to deal with this. 

"I'll work on it," he replied. Meaning he would work on it at a later time. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to relax, breath the outdoor air, and hope it cleared his mind. 

"Your mind... is a shithole," Penny claimed, unhelpfully. 

"Yeah," he agreed. His eyes shifted past Penny and he froze. A hand appeared on Penny's arm, five fingers wrapped around it. Moths fluttered, and glowing eyes gleamed behind them. Despite his many dreams, he felt himself recoil, jumping to his feet a little too quickly as he staggered backwards, terror rushing through him. Pain pierced his head, sharp enough to remind him of the cost of any major emotional response. His ears rang, and darkness encroached in his eyes. The hallucination faded, leaving Penny staring at him oddly and the sensation of blood dripping down his nose. 

"What the hell was that?"

"Uh... well.. one of the symptoms were hallucinations.. they've been getting better," he replied as his heart stopped racing and began to slow to a normal rate. 

"You call that better? That's fucked up," Penny said. 

He seemed to wince slightly, almost as if he felt a brief flash of pain leaking from Quentin's mind. Quentin couldn't quite tell, because his thoughts were apparently constantly 'leaking' from his mind, despite what he tried to do about it.

"Good luck with that," Penny said, turning to leave. As he did, Quentin felt a strange sensation in his head, and the pain lessened slightly. 

Maybe he wasn't such an asshole after all.

 

It took nearly a week for the worst of the symptoms to fade - the light and sound sensitivity, the worst of the headache, and the hallucinations. Another week later, the headache finally went away completely.


End file.
